


Miscellanies, Moments and Memos

by Silver_setting_sun



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: #minimegsweek, A Warlord's Method of Flirting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Angst, Bittersweet, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Established Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, Gift Giving, Glitter, Imprisonment, Karaoke, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Marriage, Shyness, St. Patrick's Day, Teaching, Touch-Starved, Valentine's Day, Wartime, government reform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_setting_sun/pseuds/Silver_setting_sun
Summary: A collection of short stories for Minimegs Week 2020.Day 1: Hope/RegretDay 2: Peace/DisorderDay 3: Betrayal/LoyaltyDay 4: Holiday/VacationsDay 5: Intimacy/VulnerabilityDay 6: AU/FUDay 7: Free Prompt
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus, Megatron/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 67
Kudos: 49





	1. Day One: Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the crew of the Lost Light returns home to end their journey and turn over Megatron to be judged for his crimes, a difficult conversation is had.

"Is everything alright?"

Megatron looked up to where light was now streaming into the darkened room.

He reset his optics, allowing them to adjust to the sudden brightness and the figure in the doorway became discernible. 

"Magnus," Megatron greeted. The word came slowly, sticking to his glossa on the way out. "I didn't hear you knock."

"I did knock. Several times," Ultra Magnus said, worry creasing his face. "I also sent you multiple messages."

Megatron checked, and sure enough, three unread messages from Magnus lay waiting in his comm. His systems creaked with stress, and Megatron listened to the heavy footsteps of Magnus coming closer. 

“I wouldn’t have thought Rodimus would leave you alone," Magnus said. “Not now.” 

“I requested privacy.” 

Magnus’s optics bore into Megatron. “Even so, I don’t believe solitude benefits anyone, given the circumstances. I-” Magnus hesitated, the blue glow of his optics imploring. “Are you alright?”

Megatron looked down silently. Magnus winced and brought his hands up nervously. 

“No that was a foolish question,” he blurted. “Of course you’re not alright. I apolog-”

“Minimus,” Megatron interrupted. The name, spoken with pointedness, silenced Magnus immediately. 

Megatron reached out and gently took Magnus’s hand. He gave a squeeze and met Magnus’s gaze. “I wished so badly to atone,” he murmured. “I know I’d never be able to truly make amends for my atrocities, but I wanted to use the remainder of my time to make reparations. And now.”

Megatron looked down at where their hands were clasped. “Now that I’m about to face judgement, it’s painfully clear to me how hollow the punishment will feel.” The few drops of light in the room danced with shadows across their frames. 

“Execution or eternal imprisonment,” Megatron mused. 

Magnus kept still, unsure what to say. He desperately wanted to say something to comfort Megatron; to soothe his anguish. But with a sharp pang of regret, he realized there were no words that could achieve that. There was no solace to be had, no relief to offer. There was only the cold press of certain fate. 

Instead, he returned the squeeze and said, “You may find no satisfaction in it, but countless others will.” The words felt cruel and searing, but somehow right in their truthfulness.

Megatron’s shoulders began to shake, but no sound escaped his mouth. His red optics dimmed to a fraction of their normal burning light. 

Finally, Megatron spoke again. “Rodimus avoids the topic of my sentencing as though not putting a name to it erases its existence. Your honesty is beautiful,” he whispered, still looking at their hands. 

Magnus’s vents hitched. 

“You are beautiful,” Megatron said softly. “I wish- I hoped-” 

Magnus brushed the knuckles of his other hand over Megatron’s cheek. He leaned in, but Megatron stopped him with a hand to the chest. 

“We can’t,” Megatron rasped. “My future is sealed. It would just be building false hope. You don’t deserve that, Minimus.” 

Magnus stared at him for a moment, then pressed his palm over Megatron’s so they were holding hands in two places: one pair at their waists and one over Magnus’s chest. 

“It’s not false hope,” Magnus breathed. Megatron’s optics flitted up to peer at him. Magnus could see the sadness and doubt that filled them but Megatron said nothing. 

“Neither you nor I possess any delusions about this ending in our favor. I am looking at this head on, Megatron; knowing full well there is no future for us.” 

The room felt too hot, too dark, too full of heartache, but Magnus carried on. “The ship will reach Cybertron tomorrow. This is the last night we’ll have alone and free together. I want this for the memories we’ll make, not for the blind hope of more.”

Magnus leaned in again and this time, Megatron did not protest. They kissed, slow with the aching heat of sorrow and adoration rising within. 

Not breaking the kiss, Magnus pulled them over and down to the berth for a night of memories, free of false hope.


	2. Day Two: Disorder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peaceful was never a word that could describe life on the Lost Light.

Minimus sighed from where he sat in a booth at Swerve’s. He regretted a lot of his choices leading up to this moment, one of which being the decision to actually _come._

His most recent greatest regret however, was listening to Megatron and not wearing his armor to the bar. The seats were not made for someone his size and his face barely reached above the table. 

Sitting across from him was Megatron; a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the makeshift stage swathed in neon strobe lights.

Sound assaulted Minimus on all sides- rustling, chatting and cheering of bar patrons, clinks of glasses, and the egregious, unmelodious singing that was karaoke night. 

The piercing sound of Whirl trying to hit a high note made Minimus wince and drew Megatron’s attention. 

“Not a fan of Shock Pop?” Megatron asked, his tone a strange mix between sympathy and amusement. 

“Not at that octave.”

Megatron chuckled and they watched Tailgate clamber onto the stage. Whirl draped an arm over his shoulders and bent down so the minibot could reach the microphone in Whirl’s claws. Minimus let out an ex-vent of relief, thinking that higer-pitched voice Tailgate would take over the higher parts. 

To his utter dismay, Tailgate began belting out the deeper harmony, leaving Whirl to the melody. 

“No, the octave you prefer is much lower,” Megatron said, his tone taking on a mischievous edge. “Much more suited for your own singing voice.” 

Minimus tried not to squirm in embarrassment. “I believe you are trying to imply something.”

“More than imply, Minimus,” Megatron said playfully. “I’m _saying_ I like your voice and would enjoy hearing you perform.” 

“Oh,” Minimus mumbled with wide optics. “Thank you.” He hunched in on himself, awkwardly aware that he still had to address Megatron’s suggestion that he take the stage next.”

Minimus was saved from answering by the rise of shouts and hoots of encouragement flooding the room, as the strong beats of dance music began to play. 

Mechs everywhere began to dance- some to the steady rhythm of the music being pumped into the bar, some to the song Whirl and Tailgate were butchering with enthusiasm. 

Minimus could see Rodimus’s rapid flailing of a dance next to Nautica and her more fluid movements. He could see Brainstorm doing what he remembered Verity once told him was “The Robot” and Drift spinning Ratchet as they moved together. 

Tailgate broke from the song to beckon Cyclonus to join them on the stage, while Whirl filled in the gap with an appallingly out of tune arpeggio. The situation was the epitome of unorganized.

“Disorderly,” Minimus mumbled with a shake of his helm. 

“I always thought disorder was something undesirable,” Megatron remarked. He took a sip of energon. “I strove to instill rigidity and order into my ranks, and to my complete chagrin, the Lost Light seemed to be fueled on the opposite.” 

Megatron rested his arms on the table, bending over it slightly to see Minimus better. Naked affection lay bare on Megatron’s faceplates as he continued. 

“I now find that I don’t mind the disorder as much. It’s familiar. It’s…” Megatron frowned faintly, seemingly searching for the right word.

“Home?” Minimus suggested, feeling as though his spark was about to leap out of his chest. 

“Yes,” Megatron agreed. “It’s home.” He broke into a wide, contented smile and Minimus felt his cheeks warm at the sight.


	3. Day Three: Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron receives interesting information regarding the acquisition of a new prisoner.

Megatron leaned forward in his seat, fingers clenched. “Repeat that.” 

Soundwave’s visor stared back at him, and if his communications officer were a more expressive mech, Megatron knew he’d be raising an optic ridge. 

“Ultra Magnus is in Decepticon custody. Further action is waiting on your orders.” 

Megatron rose from the chair and began striding out of the command room in the same step. Soundwave followed, easily keeping pace at Megatron’s side. “He’s in this ship?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave answered. “The Autobot is in cell block three.” 

How could they have caught Ultra Magnus? The question stuck in Megatron’s processor. There’d been no major conflict of late that would have necessitated the presence of the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, much less enabled him to be apprehended. 

They reached the lift. The two guards in front of it saluted respectfully and stood aside. After a few short minutes with the drone of machinery as their company, they arrived at one of the lower levels of the ship.

They exited the lift and walked into the dim light and vaguely unpleasant smell of the Nemesis’s brig. They passed several cells, each with only a few inhabitants inside. The prison was not one that ever held many captives at once. They were often transported to offworld facilities for the safety and convenience of High Command. 

Sure enough, once they arrived at block three, Megatron saw the unmistakable form of Ultra Magnus. 

“Megatron,” Magnus acknowledged coldly. He stood ramrod straight, and glared at Megatron from behind the bars. 

“Ultra Magnus. A pleasure to see you again. I can’t say I ever expected you to be careless enough to allow capture outside of the battlefield.” 

Magnus bristled at the insult, his mouth pulling back into an angry sneer. “I was anything but careless,” he growled. “I was doing my job and about to arrest Scorponok. On neutral ground I might add, when one of your scouting teams jumped me.” 

Megatron looked over the Soundwave for confirmation. The communications officer gave a single nod. “The order was not given. The offending parties will be reprimanded for their unsanctioned actions.”

Megatron hummed his assent. “Scorponok. I Haven’t heard that traitor’s designation in quite some time. You're still pursuing him?” 

“I never stopped,” Magnus said, indignation rising in his voice. “My duty is to bring those who have broken the Tyrest Accord to justice.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Megatron unclasped his hands from behind his back. “Autobot. Decepticon. Neutral. It doesn’t matter their affiliation or rank. If they’ve violated the law, you’ll work your hardest to arrest them.”

Ultra Magnus said nothing, but the steel in his optics was enough of an answer. 

“That’s what I’ve always admired about you, Ultra Magnus. Unlike the hypocrisy and oppression the rest of the Autobots stand by—” he saw Magnus tense at that but carried on, “—you’ve always been unprejudiced in your actions.” 

“What are you playing at?” Magnus demanded and Megatron nearly rolled his optics at the cliché direction their conversation was taking. 

“I want you to join the Decepticons,” he explained simply. Magnus jerked like he’d been shot. 

Megatron laughed. “What?” he drawled. “It’s not as if this is the first time I’ve asked. You weren’t nearly so disgusted by the prospect in the early days of the war, before you were appointed by Tyrest.” 

Magnus cocked his helm slightly, confusion wrought across his face. That was odd. What Megatron spoke of wasn’t a particularly forgettable event. 

Ultra Magnus had been quite famous as an elite soldier and commander, known for his honor and fair-mindedness, even before the war. 

It was at a minor battle that Megatron cornered Ultra Magnus in the wreckage of a building hidden from both side's troops. He'd held him at gunpoint and made his offer. In hindsight, a more civil method would have been far more convincing to the Autobot, but violence and charisma had gotten Megatron far.

Magnus had listened to Megatron’s speech, to his reasons for why the Decepticons were in the right and to the acts of persecution committed by many of the members that formed the Autobots.

Ultra Magnus had listened, and then proceeded to wrench the end of the fusion cannon out of line and punch Megatron hard in the face. 

"I'll bring the scum of my faction to justice, but I won't betray them," he'd proclaimed, then fled, leaving Megatron dazed. 

For more than one reason. 

It wasn't the kind of interaction to be forgotten, but as he looked at Magnus, he got the distinct impression the mech had no idea what he was referring to.

It was as if he hadn't lived it. As if the memory wasn't truly his. As if somehow, he wasn't the same person.

"Right," Magnus said suddenly. "You asked and I told you no…" Megatron could practically hear the question in what should have been fact. 

Ultra Magnus seemed to catch on to Megatron's dubiety and straightened. "I refused," he said, this time with confidence. 

"In that case, let me make my offer one last time, for good faith. Join the Decepticons. Stand by my side and help me end this war. Our victory will bring about an age of equality and justice that you, my dear Enforcer, will help maintain." 

Ultra Magnus scowled and Megatron knew his answer before it was spoken. 

"Never," Magnus snarled. "I don’t need you in order to serve justice. Justice will be carried out on all who deserve it, no matter their affiliation. And especially upon you, Megatron."

The declaration was so different yet similar to the one all those millennia ago. Different words and inflections, but the core message of loyalty, self-assurance and conviction was the same.

It made Megatron shudder with delight. 

"Very well, Ultra Magnus," Megatron said primly. "Your next stop is Grindcore Prison. Feel free to notify me anytime if you change your mind." 

Megatron turned around and walked back briskly to the lift, Soundwave on his tail. Once they were inside, alone and on their way back up, Soundwave spoke. 

"Megatron: Already knew the prisoner's answer. Talking: Unnecessary." 

"Naturally," Megatron agreed. "But it's always worth it on the off chance he has a change of spark."

He could feel Soundwave's gaze on his back. "Autobot Ultra Magnus will never abandon his faction." 

"True," Megatron admitted cheerfully. "But I would be disappointed if his defection was easily won. No, his principles intrigue me. It makes me want him at my side even more."

The lift doors opened. "Call a prisoner transport to Grindcore. Autobot High Command will no doubt make an attempt to retrieve their commander."


	4. Day Four: Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron knew that it was in Rodimus’s nature to bring excitement to where there was none. He knew that; expected that. What he couldn’t expect, was how.

Of the countless ray guns constructed, bioweapons designed and devastating explosives that existed within the galaxy, Megatron thought this monstrosity was truly the most abhorrent of inventions. 

The substance Brainstorm called glitter, coated him on the inside and out; sticking to everything with a perverse vengeance. He could feel it in his seams and knew it must have migrated to his internals by now. 

As Megatron made his way to the command bridge, he looked up and saw, hung from the ceiling, a garish pink and green sign. In blocky black letters it spelled out, _Happy Valtrick’s Day_. 

“Merry Valtrick’s day!” Rodimus shouted and tossed a handful of green and pink glitter at him. It caught Megatron across the chest and stuck. 

“Happy,” Drift corrected from where he was hanging long ribbons of material Megatron recognized as streamers. “Merry is for well wishes during human winter festivities.” 

“Merry, Happy, same difference,” Rodimus said dismissively. He grinned. “Whatcha think, Megs?”

Megatron looked down slowly. He brushed a hand over his chest, but only succeeded in getting glitter on his palm. “I’m not sure. What exactly am I looking at?” 

Rodimus threw his arms up so his body framed the sign overhead. “You’re witnessing the birth of a brand new holiday created by yours truly. I call it, Valtrick’s day.” 

When Megatron only stared blankly, Drift chimed in again. “Rodimus wanted to celebrate something. According to the human calendar it’s February twenty-eighth. We’ve missed Valentine's day and St. Patrick’s day has yet to come, so we’ve combined the two.” 

The names sounded familiar, but Megatron had never been terribly well versed in matters of earth culture. Luckily, Drift seemed to catch on to that quickly. 

“One’s a festival for love and the other’s a celebration of a religious figure,” Drift clarified. 

“You make it sound so boring,” Rodimus whined. 

Megatron snorted. Rodimus grabbed something from behind him before bounding forward. “I’ve brought together two wonderful things.” He held out a red box to Megatron, “Love—” then opened his other clenched fist to reveal a pile of green glitter. “And the color green.” 

Rodimus brought his face down, puckering his lips in preparation to blow, but Megatron grabbed his wrist. 

Rodimus laughed. “Fine, fine,” he sang, lowering his hand to disengage the sparkly threat. Megatron let go and Rodimus pushed the package at him more insistently. “Seriously though, take this and give it to Mims. I know you didn’t know to get him a gift, but it’s tradition.”

“Tradition for a holiday you made up?” 

“Touché.” Rodimus patted Megatron's chest, taking some of the glitter with him. “But really, I promise he’ll like it. And you can even say you got it yourself."

"I will not be lying," Megatron informed him, then looked intently at the package. "Didn't Drift say part of this was the celebration of love? You know Minimus and I are not involved. I wouldn't presume-" 

"Not just romantic love, Megs," Rodimus complained, and, done with waiting, simply dropped the gift into Megatron's arms. 

Megatron nodded with resolve, surrendering to Rodimus’s persistence. "And where is Minimus?"

"As his captain, I gave him the day off work. So he's probably in his quarters. Doing work." 

"Thank you, Rodimus. I'll be back momentarily."

"No need!" Rodimus called as Megatron turned to leave. "Enjoy Valtrick's day. I've got everything covered." 

Megatron somewhat doubted that, but he'd give his co-captain credit where it was due: Rodimus had held things together in much more dire times than a new holiday. 

As he left he heard the soft words of Drift, jokingly reprimanding Rodimus for "bending the truth".

The sound of Rodimus’s laughter followed, leaving Megatron confused, but unconcerned. 

The trip to Minimus's hab suite was short, and in a small amount of time he was knocking upon the door. The door slid open and Minimus joined him in the hallway. 

Megatron wordlessly held out the gift and Minimus took it gingerly, popping off the top effortlessly. Sitting inside the box's green interior was at least a dozen energon goodies, each shaped into an earth heart. 

Megatron may not have been knowledgeable about the many aspects of human culture, but it had a way of forcing itself down one's intake. He knew the meaning of such a gift and mortification began to well up inside of him. 

_Not romantic love my aft,_ he thought fiercely. 

Minimus looked up at him, expression unreadable. "Please wait here for a moment," he asked, then disappeared back inside the room. When he resurfaced he held an almost exact replica of the box Megatron had given him. He handed it over and Megatron opened it. The same kind of energon goodies greeted him. 

"Drift told me to give it to you," Minimus explained. "For Valtrick's day I believe they're calling it." 

“You're familiar?"

“I am with Valentine's day and St. Patrick's day separately. Admittedly, I find it a little unclear whether we're supposed to celebrate love or religious figures." 

Megatron grimaced. “I'd rather not worship Rodimus, or Optimus, or any of the past Primes.” He eyed Minimus questioningly. "How about celebrating love and green? I rather like the color." 

Minimus looked at him then looked down at himself, then back at Megatron again. He smiled sheepishly.

"Would you like to spend the holiday with me? I have the day off." Minimus said, standing clear of the door.

"I'd be honored to." Megatron took a step to enter, but Minimus stopped him with a sudden hand. 

"Ah, on second thought, maybe we should make a trip to the wash racks first," Minimus suggested, eyeing the glitter on the other mech. 

Megatron glanced down to see the infuriating substance strewn around his pedes. A thick trail of it snaked down the hall from where he'd come.

"Yes, that sounds good," Megatron replied, happily clinging to Minimus’s use of the word 'we'. 

Minimus nodded. "I'll get a broom," he said with determination. Before he slipped back inside to do so, Megatron offered Minimus a hopeful look. "Happy Valtrick's day." 


	5. Day Five: Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtship was never something Minimus thought he’d experience, and the idea of ruining it because of his own selfish desires was sickening.

Personal relationships were not and had never been Minimus’s forte; romantic relations especially. 

He’d had one or two before taking up the mantle of Ultra Magnus, but as The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, those types of connections had been highly discouraged by Tyrest. It simply wouldn’t do for the Ultra Magnus secret to be uncovered because of the suspicions of a lover left by a previous armor user. 

It was this lack of experience that Minimus attributed his current problem to. He had no idea how to start this crucial conversation with his partner.

He and Megatron had been courting for nearly a decivorn, and even though Minimus found their time together fulfilling, it felt as though their level of intimacy still ran quite shallow. 

Megatron barely touched him, keeping instead to simple and light brushes to the shoulder or back. Nothing further, such as the holding of hands or an embrace was conducted. Minimus spent the first few months of their relationship too nervous to initiate, and as the length of their courtship increased, so too did Minimus’s resignation.

The one time he’d gathered enough courage to place a lingering touch on Megatron’s side, the mech had startled, looking down at Minimus with something akin to alarm in his optics. 

That was when the theory that the lack of contact may be intentional, crept into Minimus’s mind. 

Megatron wasn’t a fan of being touched. Minimus knew that going in. But one day he'd looked up and realized he'd fallen in love with Megatron frighteningly easily and deeply.

Minimus had pondered that and came to a simple conclusion: If the object of his affections was uncomfortable with physical displays of intimacy, he would find a way to accommodate that.

He wanted so badly talk to Megatron about his troubles, but his processor conjured the worst possible outcomes every time he even considered it. He then proceeded to put the conversation off. 

Minimus glanced up to where Megatron was sitting at the desk in their shared quarters—And wasn’t that rather odd. They shared a space- a berth, and still, Megatron never touched him excessively.

Megatron was writing as he usually did after a long shift. Minimus watched as his courtmate's stylus flew across the datapad, leaving messily scrawled glyphs in its wake. It was absolutely entrancing. It was so captivating that Minimus forgot he was staring. 

“Minimus?” Megatron’s voice broke through the haze. 

“Mmn?” 

Megatron got out of his chair and came over to stand in front of the berth Minimus sat perched upon. The heat from Megatron’s frame made Minimus want to relax, made him want to reach out and press his digits to the hot plating. 

Embarrassed by his own selfishness, Minimus tensed his jaw stubbornly. He wouldn’t make Megatron uncomfortable. But to his shock, Megatron reached out and gently cupped his face. He surveyed Minimus with clear concern in his expression. 

“Is something the matter?” 

Minimus only looked back silently, optics blown wide with surprise. Megatron stared back, then, making some sort of connection, swiftly drew his hand away. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he said hurriedly while Minimus's processor struggled to keep up. “I should have asked before touching you.”

“No!” Minimus protested, then felt the embarrassment return at his outburst. “I want you to touch me more—You never—I know you do not find physical contact pleasant,” Minimus finished weakly. 

Megatron looked at him in bewilderment before his expression crumpled. “Oh, Minimus, no.”

In a single movement he swept Minimus up into his arms and sat the two of them on the center of the berth. “I’m so sorry,” he said, holding Minimus to his chest. 

The sensation was overwhelming- the heat, the smell, the feeling of Megatron’s plating pressing against his. Minimus wrapped his arms around what he could of Megatron and returned the hug. 

“You said you don’t like it when others touch you,” Minimus managed to get out. 

“I don’t like being touched by those I don’t trust,” Megatron murmured, and Minimus could hear the words vibrate through that broad chest. “You don’t fall into that category, Minimus.” 

As much as Minimus wanted to let that be it and simply enjoy the closeness, he needed to know. “You wouldn’t touch me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Megatron repeated. “I’ve seen how you tend to lean away from or tense up at casual contact. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.” 

Minimus thought back to the training Tyrest had put him through to prepare him to be Ultra Magnus.

 _Don’t allow anyone too close_ was one of the most important rules Tyrest taught him. _Be detached and reserved._ One of the easiest ways to deter mechs from getting close was to show he didn’t want to be touched; to tense and lean away like Megatron described. 

It had become natural and the muted sensations the Ultra Magnus armor caused certainly didn’t discourage that behavior. 

“Normal touches don't register well through the armor.” Minimus buried his helm beneath Megatron’s chin. “It’s not unpleasant, but not fulfilling. It’s...dulled. I missed the feeling on my own frame.” 

Megatron pulled back to look Minimus in the optics. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. “Minimus, this was clearly making you unhappy.”

“I love you,” Minimus said candidly. 

Megatron brows scrunched with disapproval and Minimus rushed to amend his statement. “I love you and I worried that having this conversation would end our relationship,” he whispered, hanging his helm.

He felt Megatron nod, then shift to lay down, pulling Minimus atop his frame. His wide hand stroked down Minimus back, spreading warmth as it went. 

"Can we talk about this later?" Minimus asked, offlining his optics.

“Later,” Megatron promised. He shifted, arranging them into a more comfortable position. “I love you too,” he murmured into Minimus’s audial.

Minimus slowly drifted into recharge, lulled by the low hum emanating from Megatron’s systems.


	6. Day Six: AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rise of the new Prime was as unexpected as it was revolutionary. His policies and reforms changed the lives of many.

The lecture hall at the very end of the corridor on floor four. 

That was where Megatron had told him to go. As a newcomer to teaching at the Iacon University, Minimus was grateful for the support his coworker offered.

From day one, and an accidental meeting by virtue of Minimus mistaking Megatron's office for his own, the grey mech had been exceedingly helpful. He’d personally shown Minimus to the correct location, making friendly conversation along the way.

As it turned out, his office was right down the hall. It had seemed strange at first: That a law professor’s office would be located in what Minimus learned was the literature department. But when he really thought about it, the reasoning made sense. 

Iacon University was brand-new compared to many of the other learning institutions that populated Cybertron. It was an experimental effort, put in place by the newly appointed Optimus Prime. Iacon University was completely free of tuition with no class restrictions. However, lower class mechs were prioritized for enrollment. 

The hope was to make it easier for mechs to attain an education to help them escape poverty. Unfortunately, even with the authority of being a Prime, Optimus had to convince the Senators to allocate funding to the university. The budget wasn’t nearly large enough and it wasn’t until recently that a law department was added.

Minimus had applied, and found himself hired on as the only professor in the field- hence the university board stuffing him into the literature department building. 

After that first interaction there should have been little reason for Megatron to seek his company. But at every turn, Megatron continuously did exactly that. 

He stopped Minimus in the mornings for small chats, answered Minimus’s questions and requests for advice about teaching with no judgement, brought eneron for them to share on lunch breaks, and never failed to reply to the messages Minimus occasionally sent to the faculty. 

And now, he’d invited Minimus to have dinner with him after work.

The lecture hall at the very end of the corridor on floor four. 

Minimus checked the time. It was late enough that all students should have left campus. Minimus pushed open the heavy door and found himself staring down the slope of the room. Standing at the lowest point in the center of the room was Megatron, and what Minimus realized was, to his surprise, a student. 

Both looked up at the sound of the door swinging back shut. 

“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Minimus,” Megatron called before turning his attention back to his student. 

The student on the other hand- a rather unique, blue mech with a tall helm crest- gave Minimus a jaunty wave.

“Hey professor!” he shouted.

Minimus reset his optics, puzzled. He’d seen the mech around campus, but had never met, much less talked to him. He raised a hesitant hand in return and the mech beamed. 

Megatron said something else to his student. They exchanged a few more quiet words. At last, Megatron patted the mech’s shoulder in what was both a friendly gesture and a dismissal. The mech gave him a thumbs up, spun on his heels and practically sauntered past Minimus. 

“Hey prof. Bye prof.” he said, both sentences blending together into some strange messily stitched message. 

The door swung shut, and with that, the student was gone. Megatron gave a chuff of laughter and approached Minimus.

“Sorry,” he said, mirth still in his voice. “Riptide needed some guidance on an assignment.” 

Minimus nodded. “No worries. It’s very kind of you to stay after hours to help.” 

“It’s the least I can do as an educator.” Megatron smiled fondly at the door. “Riptide has worked hard to get where he is. He’s not terribly gifted with...academic endeavors, but with every failure he grows a little more. It’s admirable.” 

A comfortable silence took over as that statement washed over them. 

“Ah, forgive me for the holdup,” Megatron said abruptly. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smile. “I promised you dinner.” 

The establishment they ended up in was a small place. The walls were painted a soothing orange-brown and bathed in warm lighting. Circular tables with matching sturdy stools filled the area.

It wasn’t particularly crowded, but certainly wasn’t empty. Small groups of Cybertronians dotted the room, their chatter floating through the air. 

They found a table- ordering their drinks at the counter before taking a seat. 

“So,” Megatron began, distracting Minimus from where his legs dangled awkwardly off the stool. “I know you used to be a lawyer. If you don’t mind, I’d love to know why you went through a career change—to a professor no less.” 

“I decided because of my brother. Dominus Ambus. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” 

Megatron nodded silently, welcoming Minimus to continue. 

“We never got along. He was a scientist- an activist and I was...not. He always insisted that my choice in occupation wasn’t enough, that I needed to do more in the name of bettering our society. I always ignored him until the day he disappeared.” 

Minimus took a breath. 

“Well, disappeared was the official report, but everyone knows that’s—anyway, my brother’s conjunx, Rewind, is of the disposable class. When Dominus...went, Rewind was left stuck. He wanted to go to school for production- to fulfill his dreams, but there were no options. Even the highest of bribes won’t get a disposable into any institute. I suppose I wanted to support a place like Iacon University that gives chances to mechs like him.” 

Megatron grunted his approval. “That’s commendable. I’m terribly sorry about your loss, but I’m sure your brother would be proud.”

Minimus cleared his vocalizer, suddenly feeling choked up. “It’s old news,” he insisted hurriedly. “What about you? How did you end up teaching?” 

A server drone dropped off their energon. Megatron took his glass, wrapping both hands around it. 

“I was constructed to work in the mines,” he explained. “But I’m sure you ascertained that from my frame.”

He grinned at the green mech and Minimus chuckled. 

“I frequently wrote about the wrongs of functionalism and the class system as a whole. I even published it, foolish as that may have been.” Megatron laughed. “Luckily, as it turned out, Orion Pax was a fan of my work.”

Minimus’s brows rose. “Orion Pax as in—”

“As in the Cybertronian that would become Optimus Prime,” Megatron confirmed. “Before any unsavory parties could attempt to stop me from writing, the new Prime ascended. He began flushing corruption out of the government.”

Minimus took a quick drink, optics focused on Megatron. The mech’s voice rumbled deep and steady- perfect for story telling.

“Optimus wrote me a letter. We kept in correspondence for a few months and still stay in touch. He vouched for me and paid for me to attend the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology. I got my degree and went on to teach at Iacon University at Optimus’s request.” 

“Impressive,” Minimus remarked.

Megatron grinned with mock coyness. “Yes, I have been told Optimus’s effort is a massive undertaking. Pit, I’ve probably told him that.”

“I meant you,” Minimus said, trying to hide his fluster. “You’ve risen from your circumstances using your own ideas and skill.” 

“Thank you,” Megatron said earnestly. “It’s amazing to see how far Cybertron’s come in only a few decades. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have been allowed in this establishment. I certainly wouldn’t be allowed to interact with you like this.” Megatron slid a hand forward, placing it over Minimus’s.

It was true. Minimus was several classes above Megatron and without the repealing of numerous laws, they could have been arrested for merely showing any signs of romantic entanglement.

“It’s magnificent,” Minimus declared.


	7. Day Seven: Free Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As future generations took over, the lives of the past became history, legends and tales ripe for sharing.

The light of Tarn shone brightly, spilling out into every nook and cranny of the darkened city. Even far into the night sky where light failed to reach, small lanterns bobbed above, rising high enough to blend in with the stars. 

The majority of the city’s population occupied the downtown area, taking comfort in loved ones during the Festival of Lost Light. There were stories, reminiscing about the deceased, good energon and plenty of sorrow to be had. 

Cybertronians everywhere either held lanterns or let them float out of reach in honor of the dead. 

Away from the celebrations, in an empty public square, sat Fission. He leaned back, resting his helm against the base of the lone statue in the center of the square. 

“So this is where you ran off to.”

Fission onlined his optics to see his friend, Cogset, standing in front of him with crossed arms. 

“Leave me alone,” Fission grumbled, turning his frame away. 

Cogset huffed and set her hands on her hips. “You get like this every year during the festival. What’s your problem?” 

“Can’t a mech just get some alone time,” Fission snapped. A moment of chilly silence passed before Fission sighed, running his hands down his faceplates. “I’m sorry, Cogset. I’m not trying to be rude, I just wanted to be somewhere a little less depressing, you know.”

Cogset’s shoulders relaxed from where they’d tensed in indignation. “Well, you picked a helluva place for that,” she mused. “One of the saddest places in the city.” 

“What do you mean?” Fission asked with a frown.

Instead of answering, Cogset pointed to the statue. It was old, but well kept. Carved from dark metal was the form of a mech in mid salute. It was at least twice Fission’s size, but the frame type and lack of kibble made him think the mech was probably a minibot.

The statue stared out into the city as if watching over it, the set of his mouth hidden by a prominent facial insignia. 

Fission’s frown deepened. “I still don’t know what you mean.” 

“The statue is of Minimus Ambus,” Cogset said, as if that cleared everything up. 

When Fission only stared at her blankly, Cogset rolled her optics. “Minimus Ambus, the last to bear the role of Ultra Magnus. One of the key players in the repopulation effort. The mech responsible for the reconstruction of both Kaon and Tarn. Minimus Ambus, the past Emirate of Tarn and eventual senator. The—”

“I know who he is,” Fission interjected. “I just don’t understand why...he’s sad? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

Making her way closer, Cogset lowered her gangly frame, taking a seat next to her friend. 

“For the purpose of you following along, you _do_ know who Megatron is, right?”

Fission gave her a flat look, pulling a giggle from her vocalizer. “Just making sure.” Cogset let her back press against the cool base of the statue. “Well, everyone knows the story of the crew of the Lost Light and that Megatron and Minimus Ambus held leadership positions onboard. When Megatron returned for his trial, Minimus was his defense. They’d grown very close over the course of their journey.”

Fission nodded. “They were friends,” he murmured, sure he knew where the story was going. But Cogset had never been one for predictability. She waggled her optic ridges suggestively at him.

“Not just friends. Lovers. They had a secret relationship.”

“A secret relationship that you know about?” Fission asked, doubtful.

Cogset shoved his shoulder playfully. “It was secret at the time, you jerk. Historians found journal entries belonging to Minimus and unsent letters to Megatron. They’re pretty sure the Lost Light crew knew, but for the public it’s a recent discovery.” 

“Fine,” Fission conceded. “But I can guess how the story ends. I know Megatron’s fate after all.” 

Cogset gestured for him to continue.

“Megatron is found guilty and sentenced to eternal imprisonment. He’s hooked up to a mobius generator until he dies, never to see Minimus again.”

“True,” Cogset said. “However, you’ve skipped the most interesting middle bit. The day before Megatron was to be attached to the generator, it’s rumored that he and Minimus Ambus sparkbonded in the cell.” 

“Rumors,” Fission scoffed. 

Cogset snorted at that. “If you don’t like rumors, I’ll tell you a fact instead. Minimus Ambus did a lot of remarkable things, one of which was directing the rebuilding of Kaon and Tarn- Megatron’s cities- shaping them into gentler and healthier places.”

She looked up admiringly at the statue. “He went on to carry out restoration projects on many of the worlds ravaged by the Great Cybertronian War. He did so much good and eventually the Galactic Council began to question the ethical implications of the mobius generator; so they cut Minimus a deal. If Megatron survived imprisonment for double the time he’d inflicted the pain of war, he’d have served his sentence and would walk free.” 

“That’s eight million years,” Fission exclaimed, aghast. “They were both at least six million years old by the time that would’ve been decided. With added injuries there’s no way either of them could survive that long!” 

Cogset smiled impishly. “Minimus Ambus was a Loadbearer. I read that Loadbearers can’t die from age related burnout. Diseases like Cybercrosis or good old physical trauma can kill them, but their sparks just don’t fade naturally.”

Fission hummed with interest. Outliers, though much more common now then in the past, were still a source of mystery for Cybertronians at large. It seemed there was always a discovery being made of mechs with new abilities. 

“Ok, maybe he could make it, but what about Megatron? A mobius generator doesn’t do slag for one’s health and Megatron was already run-down.” 

Cogset shrugged again, bumping Fission in the process. “They say Megatron clung to life like a turbofox to a petrorabbit carcass. I bet that old bastard is still alive.”

“Yeah, right!” Fission blew a stream of air out between clenched denta. “It’s been ten million years since the end of the war. If he was still alive he’d be walking free by now, but he’s dead. Just like Minimus who left the planet millennia ago. Just like everyone from the Lost Light crew, minus Rodimus Prime- but the guy’s practically senile.” 

Fission offlined his optics once more and groaned. “You’re right. This place is depressing too.” 

Cogset didn’t answer. Fission felt her shuffle closer to him and rest her frame against him. They sat like that, alone and lost in their own thoughts until the sound of heavy footsteps grabbed their attention.

Walking past, hand in hand were two mechs. One was small and green with a dark faceplate, yellow optics and plenty of back kibble. The other was much larger. Fission thought he might have had a construction alt. His plating was black with grey accents. His optics glowed blue and something about the shape of his helm gave off the impression that something was missing. 

“Oh, apologies,” said the smaller mech. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. My conjunx and I were simply passing through.”

“No worries,” Cogset assured them. “It’s a big square- plenty of space.”

Fission watched as the big mech bent down and whispered something into his conjunx’s audial. They shared a warm look, optics locked onto one another as if a single gaze was replacement enough for all the words in the universe. 

“Thank you,” the big mech said, “but we’ll be on our way. Have a lovely evening.”

“You as well,” called Cogset. They watched the couple amble off, still holding hands. Fission pursued his lips in consideration. He felt like he recognized the two mechs, but couldn’t place a finger on why. He settled back against the statue of Minimus Ambus.

The smaller mech especially, was awfully familiar.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy MiniMegs Week!!


End file.
